


Together Through It All

by friendlyneighbourhoodteacakes



Series: You and I, Together [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Carjacking, Depression, Erik is a Good Dad, Family Feels, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitalization, Kidfic, Lots of Crying, M/M, Mutant Husbands, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-31 05:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyneighbourhoodteacakes/pseuds/friendlyneighbourhoodteacakes
Summary: All Charles can think about is the fact he’s probably going to die here, on this cold road, and Erik is at home with the kids and thinks he’s bringing pizza and – andhe can’t feel his legs.





	Together Through It All

**Author's Note:**

> A decent chunk of angst here, but the idea has been nagging at me for weeks. Hope you all enjoy <3

It’s a perfectly normal Friday evening. A little on the chilly side, perhaps, the air is as crisp as the leaves underfoot, but there’s nothing particularly significant about the day. All Charles knows for certain is he can’t wait to get home. Fridays are easily the best day of the week, because it signifies the beginning of the weekend and being able to spend two whole days with Erik and their children, Lorna, Wanda, and Pietro.

The three of them are growing so quickly, Charles can scarcely believe it, and he cherishes the weekends, when he gets to see them the most. Erik is the one who stays home with them all week and Charles would never begrudge him that, but he can’t deny he misses them while he’s at work.

Part of him wishes he could be the one to stay home, yet at the same time, he could never bring himself to give up his position as a professor.

Fortunately, his car isn’t too far from his office and Charles sends off his usual text to Erik to let him know he’s on his way home, that he’ll be picking up pizza en route, then starts the engine. They’d always insisted they wouldn’t get in the habit of weekly takeaways, but then the twins came along, and it was nice to have one day off from cooking per week. Last week it was Chinese, so pizza seems the best option.

Half-way home, on the town’s main street, there’s a red light. Charles stops, like a good driver. He’s distantly aware of something at the edge of his telepathy – panicked thoughts, _scared _thoughts – and tries not to think too much about it. But the minds draw closer and closer and suddenly, there are two men on either side of his car. Before he can even react, they’re yanking open the car doors, and… and, _Oh, God_, Charles thinks, because they both have guns drawn.

One of them has a duffel bag and they both have balaclavas over their faces, robbers straight from a movie, apparently.

“Get out of the car,” the one on the driver’s side grunts at him, gun pointing right at his face.

_Oh God_, Charles thinks again, fingers fumbling to undo his seatbelt, even though he’s trying not to panic and doesn’t really want to get out of the car. He’s a telepath, so this should be easy to handle. And yet, his delayed response and unfastened seatbelt give enough opportunity for the man nearest to him to grab his arm and start pulling him from the car and his mind reacts just as he’s beginning to fall onto the road. Reaching out, he grabs onto their minds and freezes both the criminals in place. Then he scrambles to his feet, intent on getting back in the car and driving far, far away, except –

Except there’s a shout, from somewhere behind him and he realises too late his mistake. A third thief is nearby, and the words _mutant freak _are painfully familiar, and it isn’t difficult to guess why the two other men are as still as statues instead of climbing into the now available car.

He’s vaguely aware of other people around, but none of them have tried to stop the carjacking, none of them knowing how to react. Their minds are just as panicked as his and everything is a bit too much but there’s another gun pointing at him, so he has to do _something _–

No time.

The gunshot echoes around the street and there’s a blinding pain in his back. Charles’ legs give way and he can hear someone screaming – realises, belatedly, it’s himself – and his grasp on the minds of the thieves vanishes. He hits the ground, distantly hears running footsteps and slamming car doors, then his car is speeding away.

As soon as the car is gone, people descend upon him, desperate to help. All Charles can think about is the fact he’s probably going to die here, on this cold road, and Erik is at home with the kids and thinks he’s bringing pizza and – and _he can’t feel his legs_.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he mumbles, as a woman crouches next to him, her hands fluttering about, clueless as to what to do. He wishes he could lose consciousness, the wound in his back radiating pain. Instead, it would seem he’s doomed to repeat himself until help arrives. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He doesn’t stop saying it until the ambulance arrives, and the EMTs give him something which lulls him into blissful darkness.

**.x.x.x.**

When Charles wakes up, it’s to the feeling of a warm hand holding tightly onto his. It isn’t the first time he’s woken up, but the other times are all dull blurs which feel as if they didn’t really happen. He doesn’t need to look to guess who it is next to him. His telepathy feels fuzzy, probably from the cocktail of drugs he’s being pumped full of, and he can’t quite latch onto the mind by the bed the way he wants to, but even without _that_, he can guess who it is. There’s only one person it could really be.

“Erik,” he whispers, slowly cracking open his eyes. “Erik, I can’t feel my legs.”

It’s far from the first time he’s said the words, but it seems to be the only thing he can focus on. And Erik looks… Erik looks like utter shit, as if he hasn’t shaved in days or slept in years. The kids need him, but a small, selfish part of Charles is grateful of the fact he’s here instead.

“I know, Charles,” Erik says, his voice thick, and it cracks when he says his name. “I know. I’m so sorry.” He visibly swallows. “It’s…” 

_…a complete T10 spinal injury. There’s a very slim chance of neurological recovery. _

The doctor isn’t as emotional about it, but Charles supposes, if they were to get emotional over every prognosis, life would be miserable for them. Hospitals are miserable places anyway. As the drugs wear off, his telepathy flickers back to full strength, picking up on every hurting person, every dying person, and he wants nothing more than to be at home with Erik and the kids.

Erik squeezes his hand and kisses his temple and they both end up crying for a bit, after the doctor leaves the room. Three stupid men and one awful bullet have changed their lives, probably forever, and when Charles starts to babble that, “This isn’t what you signed up for,” Erik just holds onto his hand tighter and tells him anything they do, they’re going to do together.

_In sickness and in health_, Erik thinks.

_I’m not sick, I’m paralysed, _Charles thinks back, and they both end up crying some more after that.

**.x.x.x.**

“What if they take the twins?”

He only whispers the words, but Erik whips his head around to stare at Charles incredulously. There’s a deep furrow between his brows. “They’d never,” he says.

“We’ve only had them for eighteen months; they might think we’re an unsuitable household if I’m in a wheelchair…” The thought has been swirling around his head for days now, frightening him. The wound in his back is healing ‘nicely’, according to the nurses, but everything else still feels like a mess and he still _can’t feel his legs_. The pity he senses in the minds of every medical professional nearly overwhelms him. He knows, logically, he’ll probably never feel his legs again. There’s not really an ‘if’ about whether he’ll be in a wheelchair, unless he magically susses out floating himself like Erik sometimes does to entertain the kids in the back garden. Both he and Erik ignore that, for now. It won’t be real until he starts the dreaded physiotherapy the nurses and the doctor keep mentioning.

“They’re _our _kids, Charles. The adoption is finalised. It’s none of anyone else’s business whether they think we’re a suitable household or not. They’re _ours_ and they’ll take them away over my dead body,” Erik says, his hand clenching into a fist around part of the standard hospital blanket.

It’s been nearly two weeks since he’s seen the kids and Charles sniffs as the tears track down from his eyes and into his hair. He’s tired of crying. He misses his children. He misses _home _and he misses his legs and he misses everything being normal.

“We were supposed to have pizza,” he murmurs, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s not usually kosher, anyway,” Erik replies, and the hilarity of the statement teases a startled laugh out of Charles, even as the tears continue to fall. For as long as Charles has known him, Erik has only really kept kosher during Hanukkah, and he’s entirely missing the point. Then, quieter, he says, “We’ll have pizza the first day you’re home.”

That isn’t what Charles wants. “I never want to think about that day again,” he admits.

Erik falls silent, thinking a lot of thoughts in quick succession, about how they’re _always _going to have a reminder of that day, about how the police still have more questions and there’ll be court hearings and the anniversary and just _Friday evenings_.

Swallowing hard, Charles blinks back tears. He dreads the mere thought of sitting in a car and worrying somebody is going to throw the door open and point a gun in his face. “I’d like some time alone, please,” he tells Erik.

It’s the first time he’s asked for such a thing since being in hospital, and hurt flashes across Erik’s face, then vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. Charles knows he understands that he’s dealing with a lot – they _both _are – and he presses a kiss to Charles’ temple before whispering a goodbye and leaving the room.

After Erik leaves, he breaks down again, and doesn’t stop crying until the nurse comes in to give him a sponge bath.

**.x.x.x.**

The rehabilitation centre is an improvement on the hospital, and Charles sort of resents himself for avoiding it for longer than necessary. His wound sufficiently healed some days ago, but he hated the thought of starting the gruelling process of adjusting to a life where he _can’t feel his legs_. The food is much better and though the environment is sterile, it’s much more welcoming than the hospital was, the staff less pitying and instead, determined to get him used to this new normal.

“I think it’d be okay for the children to visit you here, Charles,” Erik says, the day after he transfers to the centre. “They really miss you. They want to see their daddy.” His hand squeezes Charles’.

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” Charles says, shaking his head and turning to stare out of the window. The garden outside is beautiful, though the trees are completely bare, the ground covered in their leaves. His wheelchair is one the centre provided, but they’ve already given him magazines, filled with page after page of ones he can buy. Eventually, he’s going to have to choose one. For now, he wants to pretend. Just for a little longer, he wants to pretend this isn’t going to be the rest of his life.

Erik is quiet, at first, but his mind is whirring, and Charles knows what he’s going to say before he does. “They’re going to see you eventually, Charles, and I think it’s best if we get through explaining it as soon as possible.”

As far as they know, Daddy’s had an accident and won’t be home for a little while. The specifics have yet to be revealed to them. Lorna, he’s sure will understand, being five (“And three quarters, Daddy.”) But the twins… Charles doubts they’ll ever remember what life was like when Daddy could walk.

The thought puts a lump in his throat. He can’t look at Erik. A big part of him wants to argue and insist they wait – but they’ve already waited weeks, and he _does _miss them all so much, it hurts. Raven and their friends have been wonderful, babysitting whenever Erik’s at the hospital. His only visitor, since waking up, has been Erik, at his own insistence. If anybody else sees him like this, well… that makes it real, too.

“Saturday,” he decides, voice quiet. “Bring them on Saturday.” That gives him three days to prepare himself mentally and to make sure he won’t break down the moment they walk in the room.

Erik’s shoulders slump with relief and he squeezes Charles’ hand again. “Saturday,” he agrees.

There’s a flicker of hope in Erik’s mind and Charles latches onto it, feeding some of it to himself. He needs that hope, hope that they’ll actually manage to get through this, because right now, all he really wants to do is curl up in bed and never move again.

**.x.x.x.**

The man who shot him is dead, they find out, the day before the kids are coming to visit.

The group of robbers ended up crashing, just outside of town. They only managed a ten-minute joyride and Charles is never going to walk again thanks to them. The car is completely totalled. The other two men were arrested with relatively minor injuries. It’s incredibly likely, almost guaranteed, they’ll both receive life sentences.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Erik says, voice low, bitter and dark, after the police officer who is tasked with telling them the news leaves. The man had been in a coma since the crash, with a traumatic brain injury. A brain haemorrhage extinguished his life completely. “I would’ve done it myself otherwise.”

Charles doesn’t doubt the truth of that. “We have three kids, Erik. They need you. I need you. The last thing we need is you in prison,” he says, but his gaze is faraway, and the words are monotone.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Charles doesn’t have the effort to even peek into Erik’s mind and find out what he’s thinking.

Eventually, Erik says, “I would’ve done it anyway. It’d be worth it. Look at what he’s done to you.”

There’s no need to look when he lives it every day, and it doesn’t make him any keener on the thought of his husband becoming a murderer for his sake. Charles remains silent, and focuses on the bare trees in the distance, their branches waving at him in the breeze.

Fridays are easily the worst day of the week.

**.x.x.x.**

When they burst into the room, the kids are all squealing excitedly, even Lorna, despite being three years older than the twins. They chant ‘daddy’ and throw themselves at him and Charles almost cries again because he can’t feel the twins, but he can see they’ve wrapped themselves around each of his legs. Lorna has somehow made it immediately onto his lap and he’s grateful for the fact he can at least feel her leaning against his chest, and for the first time, he’s grateful the bullet didn’t hit any higher.

After they’ve calmed down, they start asking questions. Or, rather, Lorna asks the bigger questions – Wanda and Pietro poke at the wheels of his chair and ask ‘why?’ a lot, and Charles stumbles through answers they won’t understand until they’re much older. He pets Wanda and Pietro’s hair in turn, trying to comfort them that way, too.

“But you’ll be okay?” Lorna demands, looking up at him, her eyes entirely her father’s. So is the furrow between her brows.

This is the question that floors him and Charles feels his throat go tight and his vision blurs with tears, again. Fortunately, Erik steps in, smooth and sounding much more confidence than his mind feels, and says, “He will be, but not yet.”

“By Christmas?” Lorna presses, turning her gaze on her father.

Erik’s outward confidence falters, his expression shuttering for a moment. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Maybe,” he settles on.

But Christmas is only six weeks away and right now, Charles feels as if it’ll take six millenniums to bounce back from this, if not eternity. The ‘maybe’, however, seems to satisfy Lorna, and she settles against his chest again, arms wrapped around him as best they can. Before long, Wanda and Pietro are bored and toddling around the room, looking for something to occupy themselves with, apparently done with their questioning.

Eventually, the twins begin to quietly whine. Erik’s sitting in the chair he usually sits in and he turns tired, apologetic eyes on Lorna and Charles, who are still sat by the window. “I think it’s time to go,” he says quietly.

“I want to stay. I haven’t seen Daddy in _forever_,” Lorna grouses, clinging tighter to Charles.

“The twins are getting grouchy,” Erik points out, and, as if to emphasise his point, Wanda chooses that moment to sit on her bum on the floor and begins to cry.

“I don’t care. I want to stay with Daddy. Why can’t he come home? We’ll make him better. He doesn’t need to be here,” Lorna insists.

Barely holding back tears, Charles lets himself bury his face in her green hair for just a moment, then pulls away. “I’m sorry, my darling,” he murmurs to her. “But your Papa is right. I wish I could come with you, but for now, I need to stay here, and you need to help Papa look after Wanda and Pietro.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

Lorna looks like she wants to cry, but she begrudgingly slides off his lap and makes her way over to Pietro, to take his hand, while Erik picks up Wanda, who is still crying. All Charles can do is offer a watery smile.

Somehow, Erik coaxes Wanda into quietening enough to mumble out a goodbye, and Lorna and Pietro follow suit. Before they go, Erik gives Charles one more kiss. It’s proof Lorna must realise just how serious this entire situation is because she doesn’t go, “Ick,” like she usually does when her dads kiss in front of her.

They leave, and Charles struggles not to cry. He misses them from the moment they walk out of the door, and realises, quite suddenly, that he desperately needs to go home.

**.x.x.x.**

It’s not a straight road, trying to get better and trying to learn to adapt to his new situation. It isn’t even a bumpy road. It’s a road which bends and loops and there are days when Charles won’t get out of bed until Erik or one of the members of staff basically drag him out of it, but seeing the kids gives Charles a little boost. Even on the days he doesn’t want to get out of bed, the resolution to _get home _remains firmly imprinted in his brain.

In the end, it takes him only another two weeks to grow more confident with transferring himself from bed to wheelchair, wheelchair to couch, and once everyone’s satisfied both he and Erik (in case of a bad day) know how to use a catheter, and are familiar with everything else he needs to remain healthy with a spinal cord injury, he checks himself out of the rehabilitation centre. His new wheelchair arrived a week ago, and it’s easy to fold away into the car, and it’s much more comfortable than the standard one the centre provided.

Their first dilemma occurs almost as soon as they reach the car park, and Charles feels his chest growing tight as he stares at the car, Erik’s minivan, because _what if_ –

Erik’s hand comes down on his shoulder, and he crouches just behind him so he can talk into his ear. “I’m with you. It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen,” he says, and with a flick of his other hand, the passenger side door opens.

It still takes another few minutes for Charles to calm down enough to roll forwards and make the transfer from his wheelchair, into the passenger seat. It’s not quite as easy as the couch or the bed, but he manages it, and can’t deny he feels proud of himself for doing so. Once he’s buckled in, Erik stands by the door, not shutting it just yet. “Ready?” he asks, gesturing to the door. Charles stares at it, swallows, then finally nods.

The door slams shut and Charles winces, feeling suddenly very trapped. He focuses on Erik’s mind and the sound of the trunk opening. The wheelchair is folded up and tucked into the trunk and Charles’ heart pounds in his chest and his throat feels clogged when Erik opens the driver’s side door and climbs in. He looks at him, eyes full of worry, and Charles wishes he could banish that all away but there’s no denying he’s _terrified_.

“Breathe, Charles,” Erik instructs, reaching for his hand. “Focus on me. Breathe. In and out, like the therapist showed you,” he coaches, and then he demonstrates what he just described. Charles hadn’t even realised he’d been holding onto his breaths until now. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’m here. Hey, look, we’re going to lock the car doors, see?” There’s the distinct sound of the car doors locking. “Now nobody can get in from the outside.”

_What if somebody shoots through the glass and we can’t get out_, Charles thinks, sudden and still panicked.

“I can control metal,” Erik says aloud, voice unusually gentle, as it so often has been in these last few horrific weeks. “Nobody is going to shoot at us. Not without me shooting the same bullets right back at them.”

That’s true, and it’s just about enough to convince Charles’ chest and throat to loosen up. Still, he’s tense the entire drive, and his chest grows tight at every red light and stop sign. Only when they reach their street does he begin to relax, despite Erik’s best attempts at conversation as a distraction.

The house comes into view and Charles nearly cries. Raven stands outside and the kids are standing around her, baby Kurt on her hip. She gives a weak smile as the car pulls into the double driveway. It’s strange to see Raven’s car where his own would usually be, but he tries not to think about his own car. Too many bad memories to associate with it now. As Erik puts the car into park, Charles realises the singular step going up to their house has been turned into a ramp, and almost cries all over again.

Once the car doors unlock, Erik gets out and fetches his wheelchair, then opens the passenger side door and places the wheelchair down next to him. Charles transfers back to it, feeling the eyes of his children on him, Lorna worried, Pietro and Wanda curious, and as soon as he’s settled, he looks up at them and tries for a smile.

Immediately, they come barrelling towards him, cheering, and he cries as soon as his arms go around them.

Lorna starts telling him about the changes Papa’s made to the house, about the elevator and the lowered counters in the kitchen and how his and Erik’s bathroom has handles on the walls and no bath any more, so maybe it’s not _really _a bathroom but it’s where the bathroom was –

The excitement wears off, and Charles finally talks to Raven, after the kids run off to play. It’s been so long since he’s seen her, because he refused all visitors except Erik and the children (once), but they’ve spoken on the phone. Her eyes well up when he takes her hand and squeezes. “I’ve missed you so much,” she admits, clinging to his hand like a lifeline. “It’s so good to see you.”

They talk for a bit, about everything he’s missed, about Kurt getting his first few teeth… sharp, but he’s still adorable, and he babbles at Charles from where he’s sitting on the couch. Eventually, however, Raven says it’s probably best she leaves them to it, to have time as a family. Plus, Charles is exhausted.

After Raven leaves, he can finally have a little look around the house and at the changes Lorna mentioned. It’s all… perfectly suited to him and his wheelchair, the kitchen evenly split in half, one side lower than the other. There’s an elevator to reach the second floor, and he ends up crying, but for the first time, they’re tears of relief. Maybe it’s not going to be quite as hard as he thought it would be.

He has a nap, in their bed, which Erik has lowered slightly to make it easier for him to get into. Erik curls up right next to him for the first time in too long. They have a cry together, before they fall asleep, because they’ve both missed this and so much has changed since that Thursday night, the last time they lay like this, the night before _everything_. There's a long way to go yet, but this is a true step towards some sort of normal. 

Then he wakes up and he goes downstairs, and he spends time with the kids. As afternoon turns to evening, they settle together on the couch and begin to contemplate ordering Chinese, the children all sandwiched between him and Erik. Lorna is nearest to Erik, and Charles hears her whisper, “Is Daddy okay now?”

The answer is almost the same as it was last time. “Not yet, but he will be.”

This time, Charles thinks it might be true.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see when I post more stuff, follow me on [Tumblr!](https://ofbrothersandteacakes.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Getting to Okay (Together Through It All Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138378) by [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan)


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